


Birthday Bites

by Styfas



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Ficlet, Gen, Reference to George William Chambers/Harry D. S. Goodsir, nothing profound.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:21:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29760960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Styfas/pseuds/Styfas
Summary: When asked why he's rubbing his neck, Georgie Chambers says he has a sore neck.  John Weekes suspects otherwise.Terror Bingo:  Hickies(Sorry for two things on page 1 - but this one gives me another Bingo, and I want to put in for one more Bingo card before it all wraps up on March 31.)
Kudos: 3
Collections: The Terror Bingo





	Birthday Bites

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, to [Drac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drac).
> 
> Usual disclaimers apply: I knew none of the real life people (RIP!), and I do not own their corresponding "characters" as realized in AMC The Terror. Those "characters" belong to AMC, producers, writers, actors, and anyone else who had anything whatsoever to do with that programme. 
> 
> This is fiction - and that's a fact.

“What’s wrong, Georgie?” Charles Best asks. “ Why do you keep rubbing your neck?”

“Oh, was I?” Georgie says, bringing his hand slowly down to the table, trying for nonchalance. He must have been absent-mindedly rubbing that hickey that Harry Goodsir gave him last night. It hurts to the touch – but it hurts so good. Rubbing it is a painful pleasure; it may make the pain a little worse for the moment, but it brings pleasurable memories of his previous night’s activities in Harry’s cabin. “It’s nothing,” he says. “I’ve got a stiff neck is all. I woke up with it this morning, I think I must have slept wrong.” 

John Weekes, sitting across from him, chuckles. “I’ve heard that one before. But never from you.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Charles, have a look under his collar.”

Charles reaches up and Georgie bats his hand away. “I’m telling you, it’s nothing!”

Weekes calls to Morfin, who’s been seated alone at a table across from them. “Come here, John! Help us out with something!”

Georgie attempts to stand up – but just in time, Morfin arrives at their table.

“We need to check Georgie’s neck,” Weekes says. “He says it’s sore, but I say he’s got a hickey. Hold him still, lads!”

Despite Georgie’s struggling to escape, Morfin and Best, laughing all the while, push him back down to the bench, then pin his arms against his sides, holding them firmly against his ribcage. He can’t stand, and he can’t bring his hands up to stop them. His face burns: all he did was make an innocent remark about his having a sore neck, and now it’s suddenly come to this.

Weekes stands up with a devilish grin. Georgie knows what’s coming next.

He tries twisting and wrenching away, but to no avail, as Weekes reaches down, opens up his cravat and tugs down at his shirt collar.

”Ha! I knew it!”

Morfin lets loose with a high whooping sound, followed by a cackle. “Our ship’s boy has a boyfriend! Did you get that hickey last night for your birthday? You must have had your first kiss, too.”

“No,” Georgie shoots back. “He’s given me plenty of kisses before. It’s been two weeks.” 

“ _Two weeks_ , and we didn’t know? Who is it, Georgie?” Charles asks. “Tell us!”

“No!”

“You know we’ll find out eventually,” Weekes says calmly as he sits back down. “One day you’ll slip up and say his name by mistake. You could just save yourself that embarrassment later by telling us now.”

“I’m not gonna tell you. We’ve decided we’re keeping it private.”

“Come on,” Morfin says, “at least give us a hint! A seaman? Marine? Petty officer?”

“Let me go!” 

Charles snickers. “An _officer_ , is it?”

“It’s none of your business. Leave me alone.”

Weekes shrugs and nods to Charles and Morfin. “He’s not telling us. Not today. Let him go.”

When they release him, Georgie rubs his upper arms; they now hurt far more than his neck.

“Well, I’ll say this much,” Weekes says. “In all of my experience, I’ve found that whoever leaves marks like that either has no idea about what he’s doing or knows _exactly_ what he’s doing.”

Georgie smiles at the comment, not caring if the others notice. He may have unwittingly allowed them to see his neck, but he’ll make sure he never lets them see the hickies that were left on his torso and chest last night as he lay squirming and gasping with delight. Nineteen, to be exact; one for each year he’s been on Earth – and forming an outline of a giant heart. 

Harry Goodsir definitely knows what he’s doing.

**Author's Note:**

> This little scenario comes two weeks after **Enthusiasm**. When I wrote **Lovesick** , I really thought it would be a "one and done." Uh....turns out apparently not. This is now the fourth in the saga of Chambsirs. 🤣
> 
> If I can figure out to lump these all together in a mini-series, I might do it.


End file.
